


Never Mind the Wrackspurts (The Friendship & Forgiveness Remix)

by igrockspock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Post-Canon, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her father betrayed Harry to the Death Eaters, Luna isn't certain Ron is still her friend.  On the day after Fred's funeral, she reaches out anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Mind the Wrackspurts (The Friendship & Forgiveness Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Silver and Steel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749291) by [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/pseuds/saiditallbefore). 



Contrary to popular belief, Luna Lovegood knew that garden gnomes didn’t speak to human beings. The thing was, she wasn’t sure that Ron -- or any of the Weasleys -- _would_ speak to her, so when Ron saw her outside the Burrow the day after Fred’s funeral, she lost her courage, dropped to her knees, and stared down into the gnomes’ dirty faces. 

“What’re you doing in our garden?” Ron asked. It was much better than _go away, you filthy traitor_ , which was what she’d braced herself for.

She stood up and brushed the dirt off her face. “Talking to your garden gnomes,” she said hastily. Ron didn’t look angry, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell the truth -- that she’d come to see if he was okay, and if he needed anything. She knew these were useless questions. Everyone had asked her the same thing after her mum’s funeral, just before they deposited a suspicious-smelling casserole on her dining table. They never wanted the real answer, and anyway, she’d never known what to say.

“Garden gnomes can’t talk,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

Luna only shrugged. “Have you ever listened?”

She was sure that he hadn’t, so he really didn’t have the right to say what garden gnomes could and couldn’t do. At least she had listened carefully before she’d judged their abilities.

A moment of silence passed between them. The sky was crisp and blue, interrupted by a few puffy white clouds, and a breeze ruffled their hair. Maybe Ron was thinking it was a good day for Quidditch. Maybe she could offer to play, even though she was terrible at it. But maybe it was too soon for games.

“How’s your dad?” Ron asked suddenly.

Luna blinked. Her father had tried to sell Harry to Voldemort, and Ron right along with him. Everyone knew that; angry letters spewed down the chimney every time the owl post came. She’d tried to burn them once, but they spilled out of the grate and left ugly scorch marks on the brand new wooden floor. She hadn’t expected Ron of all people to care about her father’s health.

Ron was looking at her expectantly, so she said the first thing that came to mind. “He has wrackspurts. They’re quite horrible, really.”

It wasn’t true, but she wished it were. She knew what to do about wrackspurts. Sometimes just telling a person about them made them go away - that had worked for Harry. If not, you could make charms, like necklaces of butterbeer corks. Wrackspurts hated the smell of butterbeer. Of course, she’d made a necklace for her father on his first day back from Azkaban, but it didn’t help. He had a bigger problem: he’d betrayed everything he stood for, and his life would never be the same again.

“How d’you know he has wrackspurts?” Ron asked, tilting his head curiously.

“He’s been very odd lately,” Luna said. She licked her lips. “Since - since our house was destroyed.”

 _Since he betrayed you and your best friends to the Death Eaters,_ she thought. She was sure Ron was thinking it too, so she pressed on without giving him a chance to respond. “The house is rebuilt now, good as new. Only, I’m sorry I didn’t get to see Daddy’s snorkack horn.”

“Ah, right,” Ron said, scuffing his toe in the dirt. 

Luna could tell from his clenched jaw and downcast eyes that he was remembering the day her father betrayed him. Usually she said whatever came to mind, no matter how odd anyone else thought it might be, but she found she couldn’t do that now. She didn’t know how to formulate an apology, and anyway, the day after Fred’s funeral wasn’t the right time to ask forgiveness.

“He won’t believe me that he has the wrackspurts. I tried a few charms, but they didn’t work,” she said, feeling a bit desperate. She wanted to think that Ron could still be her friend, even after what her father had done.

“Well, there must be another way to get rid of them,” Ron said. Luna could hear the doubt in his voice, but he looked more relaxed, and the thought that he wanted to help cheered her.

“You can bury silver and steel at the corners of the house,” she said. “It’s really a last resort, but it’s supposed to keep malevolent spirits away.”

Ron nodded. Though Luna still had the feeling he was indulging her, he said, “I think my dad’s got some steel nails in the shed. He likes collecting muggle things, you know? I don’t know where to get silver though.”

“I’ve got some sickles,” Luna said quickly. Her Aunt Elfrida had given her some money for her sixteenth birthday, but the Death Eaters had captured her before she’d gotten to spend it.

She waited for Ron to retrieve the nails, still not quite believing he wanted to help her. But he emerged from the shed a few minutes later, rattling the mason jar that held his father’s nail collection. Together they set off through the fields that lay between their homes. When she was small, she’d thought that she and Ron might walk this path often, but that had been overly optimistic. He wasn’t an only child; he hadn’t needed an extra playmate. It was probably for the better. Grimlocks prowled the fields at night, and everyone knew they liked boys with ginger hair best of all. You could repel them with garlic cloves of course, but she could tell that Ron wouldn’t have believed her, even when he was six or seven.

“The day’s lovely, don’t you think?” Luna said, watching the grass wave in the breeze. 

Ron nodded absently, but she could see from the way he turned his eyes toward the sky that he thought so too. She supposed he hadn’t been outside much lately, which was a shame. Watching the clouds float through the sky and listening to the wind rustle through the leaves had been her greatest consolation after her mother’s death. She stopped to pick wildflowers every few yards, just so they could stay out longer. When her hands were full, she started braiding the stems together, the way her mother had taught her when they’d roamed the fields. 

“Here,” she said, standing on her toes to drop the ring of flowers onto Ron’s head. She’d thought it was big enough to be a necklace, but it sat awkwardly on top of his hair. Evidently, she’d underestimated the size of his head.

“What’s this for?” he asked gruffly.

Luna shrugged. “Everyone brought casseroles to my mother’s funeral. It was a nice gesture, only I don’t like tuna or broccoli...or casseroles, really.” Ron chuckled a little at that, and Luna added, “I would’ve much rather had something beautiful.”

Ron looked down at the ground when she said that, and Luna wondered if she’d gone too far, but he didn’t take off the little crown of flowers. Her house was in view by then, and he said, “It looks as good as new.”

Luna shook her head. “Oh no, you can still see the blast marks all over the ground. And look, the new stones aren’t really the same color as the old ones. I suppose you’ll always be able to see the cracks, but my mum used to say that cracks just let the light shine through.” She paused and added, “I’m trying very hard to believe her.”

She looked back at Ron, but he looked vaguely dazed, and she decided to leave him to his thoughts.

“My father’s not home,” she added in a low voice as she pushed open the door. 

Ron let out a long breath and followed her up the stairs to her bedroom. She’d never had a boy up here before, not even one who was standing awkwardly at the threshold like Ron. Her favorite bra, the iridescent pink one, was lying in the middle of the floor, and she kicked it under the bed hastily even though the female body was nothing to be ashamed of. 

“I like your painting,” Ron said, gazing up at the ceiling while she bent to retrieve the sickles from the inside of a red-and-purple high heeled loafer. 

Luna felt blood rushing to her face. After fifth year, she’d painted Harry and Ron and Hermione on the ceiling, with her and Ginny and Neville standing behind them. The word ‘friends’ repeated over and over again around the border. The whole thing was a bit large, but she’d been having nightmares about the Ministry, and her classmates had been even more unkind after Daddy had started printing things about Voldemort’s return. She’d needed to look up at friendly faces every night, and she told herself fiercely that she didn’t need to be embarrassed by that. 

“Did you do that all by yourself?” Ron asked, looking impressed.

Luna nodded. “It made a terrible mess on the floor, I’m afraid, but I’ve learned about drop cloths now, and Daddy said the paint splatters made a nice pattern.” She rattled the sickles in her hand. “Shall we begin?”

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. The shovel, along with the rest of her mother’s old garden tools, had gone missing when the house exploded. Luna couldn’t transfigure one because she still had the Trace on her, and Ron’s first attempt came out as a very large wooden paddle. By the time they were finished, the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, and the sky had turned the deep blue-gold that signaled the end of the afternoon.

“D’you think this’ll help your dad?” Ron asked, glancing at the little pile of earth where they’d buried the last of the silver and steel.

Luna shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “But it’s better to try than not to try, don’t you think?”

Ron nodded and scuffed his toe in the dirt. “I’d probably better get back. Mum needs help cooking dinner. There’s still lots of people at the house.”

“It was nice of you to do this with me,” Luna said. “Especially the day after --”

Ron shook his head and looked away. “I needed a distraction. And everybody’s so weird around me, you know?”

Luna nodded. She did know. “You can come back, if you want. I’m not so far away.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, looking awkward. Luna thought he wasn’t very good with feelings. With a little nod, he turned to go, but she caught his arm.

“Wait, I’ve got something you need,” she said, and dashed into the kitchen. She came out with a few cloves of garlic and stuffed them into his pocket. “Watch out for the grimlocks.”

***

Luna had just finished putting away the dinner dishes when she heard knocking at the door. Most likely, it was just someone come to leave a sack of dog poo, but she tensed and grabbed her wand anyway.

“It’s me!” a familiar voice called, and when Luna peered through the peephole, she saw Ron standing on the narrow porch.

“Did you forget something?” she asked quietly. Her father startled easily at night.

Ron shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said uneasily.

Luna slipped out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind her. Her father was in his study, and she didn’t think it was time for him to see Ron just yet. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said quickly. “It’s not about me. It’s about your dad.”

Luna nodded. She’d known this moment would come, though she had hoped to avoid it a little longer. “I’m sorry for what he did, Ron. It’s not what I wanted him to do. I would’ve let Voldemort kill me, to keep Harry safe.”

Ron looked horrified, and she cut herself off before she started pleading for her father’s forgiveness. 

“Harry wouldn't have wanted that. None of us would've,” he said. The intensity in his voice startled her, and before she had a chance to respond, he pressed on. "Look, Hermione and I, we're worried. I don’t think your father has wrackspurts, Luna. I think he’s depressed.”

“I know,” Luna said quietly.

“You do?” Ron asked, and Luna tried not to be offended by his surprise.

“Yes. But it wasn’t right of me to talk to you about his feelings today. My great aunt Elfrida had a row with my mum right before she died, and she went around the funeral asking everyone for forgiveness. It took me a long time to realize it bothered me because she wanted herself to feel better. Not us.” She shrugged. “Anyway, thank you for this afternoon. Silver and steel don’t cure depression, but it was nice to get my mind off things for awhile.”

“Can I talk to him, Luna?” Ron asked. 

He still looked uneasy, and Luna considered saying no. But Ron had tried to help her today; she couldn’t refuse him now. Pushing her misgivings aside, she opened the door and led Ron toward the study. Her father was sitting at his desk, reading, as he’d done for every night of Luna’s life. But he wasn’t alright - Luna could see that in the slump of his shoulders, and the way his eyes roved back and forth over the same page.

Ron cleared his throat. “Mr. Lovegood?”

At the sight of Ron, her father shrank back in his chair. Luna had to look away from the terror in his eyes. She’d never been the sort of person who wanted revenge, but just for a moment, she wished a dozen Death Eaters were kneeling at her feet. They deserved to suffer for teaching her father this kind of fear.

“Mr. Lovegood, please don’t be afraid,” Ron said more softly, taking a step toward the desk. “I came because I wanted you to know I’m not angry. I mean, I was at first. But not now. If someone had made me choose between Fred and Harry...” His voice trailed off. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to find out what I would’ve done. I reckon the blame’s on the Death Eaters, not you.”

Luna watched as her father clasped Ron’s hand. Then she slipped out the door and flung herself against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. It was no use. She couldn’t stop crying, even though she’d intended to thank Ron gracefully for his kindness.

Instead, when he stepped outside, she flung her arms around him. “Thank you,” she muttered into his chest.

Ron patted her head awkwardly and squeezed her hand. “It’s alright,” he said gruffly. “That’s what friends are for.”


End file.
